Romeo & Juliet Hetalia edition
by Italian At Heart
Summary: Let's reimagine the entire classic tragedy of Romeo and Juliet into something more... APH style. Am I right? The grand Houses of Beilschmidts and Vargas' have been opposing each other for years. So what happens when Cupid's arrow makes its way into a cheerful Italian's heart, shot by a handsome, unique German from the enemy House? And how exactly will their deadly story unravel?


**_A.N:_** Hello everybody! I decided one fateful day in English class to rework an idea of mine into reality... Romeo and Juliet, the Hetalia version. Better than it sounds, I promise! Enter in classic OTPs, Shakespearean language centuries old with an _urban twist_ , and more Hetalia than you can stand, if that's possible. Enjoy!

 _Disclaimer:_ I do not, in any way, own Shakespeare's _Romeo and Juliet._ Nor do I own Hetalia, that's the work of the talented artist Himaruya himself. Don't sue me, please!

 _Two Households, both alike in Dignity..._

In fair _Vertalia,_ where we lay our Scene...

Where grudges make citizens stain their hands with the blood of other citizens...

A pair of _'star-crossed'_ lovers take their fragile lives,

and with their tragedy comes an end to an ancient feud.

The story of how this came to be,

and the finish to something of which only the lovers' end could stop,

can only be explained to patient ears...

* * *

"Pssh, Hey Mattie, we don't take crap from nobody!"

"Well, I kind of hope we don't, because then we would be-"

"And if we get mad, we fight!" The loud American exclaimed, cheery and exuberant on this hot, summer day. Confidence oozed off of him in waves, and people barely paid attention to the other by his side. Both were immigrants from the Americas, so of course they were, for lack of better word, _weird._ The young man walking next to him was a lot more humble than his companion, choosing to stay quiet and carry on with the day. Because according to the other boisterous lad, there was no higher status on common ground than the servants of the royal House of _Vargas_.

"Maybe you should calm down a bit, Alfred, they're starting to stare," The quieter one whispered. His warning went unnoticed, _like usual._

"I'm a beast when I'm angry Matthew, a ferocious beast with a heroic streak!"

"The only time you get angry is when-"

"One of those _dogs_ from the Beilschmidt House is enough, Mattie. If I see one of them on the street, I'll take over the sidewalk and make him walk in the filthy streets!" Matthew, upon hearing these words, just shook his head and rolled hims eyes. "Then wouldn't you be a coward?"

"No! You're only a coward if-"

Alfred abruptly stopped speaking, and his lips pressed into a hard, thin line. His eyes turned into a frosty blue in the middle of the summer heat. Matthew was startled in the quick change of expression, and shifted his gaze elsewhere. He scouted his violet eyes around until he spotted _them_. The absolute Beilschmidt _dogs_.

Both their eyes narrowed. While Matthew wasn't really against the other family as much as his brother was, for the sake of their respective Houses he _had_ to.

From around the busy corner of where the dull streets crossed, two figures made themselves known among the hub of citizens with things to do, places to go, people to see. Recognizably, the family crest was emblazoned on the shoulders of their uniforms, a shield with the suspicious colors of blue and black. Other than that, their raggedy clothes looked almost normal. One of them stood tall and proud, vibrant green eyes narrowed into slits, but Matthew couldn't be sure from the obscenely large _eyebrows_ he seemed to have. Looks like they weren't the only ones who could recognize an enemy House from a mile away. The other was quite a bit shorter, and looked to be a young boy with a funny blue cap on his head, with equally large eyebrows. If this is some kind of family trait here, then Matthew would have to thank his lucky stars that he was from America.

Alfred subtly pushed Matthew closer to him. "Be careful Mattie, and take out your sword. I'll try to see if those guys are easily provoked, and if so, we can have a righteous heroic fight here, okay?"

"No, Alfred, don't! We can't break the law here, of all places, and it would be the fault of our House if we get tried. Listen to me!" Matthew whisper-yelled. But then Alfred just gave him a mischievous wink and did something that made Matthew want to scream _internally._

"Are you biting your thumb _at us_?"

Alfred simply grinned at the man. Now that they were up close, the voice revealed itself to be British. Which was nothing new to the them, because these two pairs of servants were more familiar with each other than others might expect. Usually Alfred would try to taunt Arthur, the one who was apparently the cause for any and all trouble, twice a week, but today was taking is just a _little_ too far. This American idiot was trying to get them arrested...

"I'm biting my thumb, that's all. _Is it a crime_? If you want to fight my awesomeness, my House is as good as yours." Alfred said, smug as a cat. Both Canada and Arthur's companion, Peter, were silent. What happens shall happen.

"But your House isn't better than mine, American."

 _Gasp_.

"Oh _really_? I say my House is even _better,_ Eyebrows."

 _Chaos._

Arthur looked absolutely enraged at the mention of a _certain part_ of his facial hair. It was clearly visible to anyone that Peter was laughing behind his hands, into his sleeves, to the point where his eyebrows seemed to also shake with him. Matthew just face palmed, and waited for them to clash. Plain citizens already stood outside their shacks of wares. Now eventually one of them would call for the Prince and then _he_ would get involved... Inevitable. Just as he imagined the metallic sound of Arthur's sword being taken out of it's handy sheath on his back, he felt the presence of someone else by his side.

"Okay _mi amigos,_ wait a second, put your swords back into their sheaths, there's no need to fight today on this nice, sunny day," Antonio Carriedo soothed. Matthew jumped, never having been so close to someone who wasn't a part of his House. This stranger just seemed so _easy-going,_ how could he possibly mean any harm?

"I don't care if we have an audience for the the show, I just want to be the hero!" Alfred exclaimed. The glint of Alfred's and Arthur's swords shone in the sunlight, blinding the spectators for no less than a second. Antonio's brief plea for peace fell on deaf ears, Matthew noticed, and Peter was too busy egging Arthur on with words of childish vengeance and the desperation to see something _exciting_ happen. Then one other sword was added into the mix. It seperated the two opposing swords from the Houses, and everyone included looked up to see who dared to interrupt this honorable fight.

Another glance revealed the form of none other than _Lovino Vargas,_ one of the Vargas' family relatives. More and more people started gathering, and some were not so discreet as they tried to be. The newcomer leveled his eyes on the servants from the Beilschmidt House, and looked scathingly at them. Which, even though he didn't look like much of a formidable opponent, his eyes told a different story. "You wish to fight against my House, you bastards? Move, Antoino, or else you're the next one on my list to die by my hand."

"In case you haven't noticed, I'm trying to keep the peace for our sakes, my friend. Return that sword to wherever it came from or help me try to stop this fight, Lovino," Antonio asked. He seemed unaffected my Lovino's previous threat, but still held a look of determination to his face. Antonio and Lovino weren't necessarily enemies, but neither would ever back down from a fight.

"Do you make me out to be a _coward_?" Lovino grumbled, anger clearly shown on his face. Oh boy, were things going to get tricky...

"What's the commotion around these parts, friends? Vargas and Beilschmidts are at it again? Let me get my pipe and we can solve this easily, Da?"

Abruptly all tension dissipated, and fear took its place. Clothed in fine clothing and a sort of frightening aura about him, Ivan Braginsky stood in the flesh. The _Russian Prince_ was here, with a heart of stone and the strength of mighty freshly-forged steel. No one wanted to cross this powerful man, not if they wished to live a bit longer. He was as scary and intimidating as he was powerful. Elected prince because of most likely less-than legit means, he ruled over the land of Vertalia honestly and fairly. Not one of the citizens complained about his rule. And if they did, no one said a word about it. For ages it seems that he played the part of referee to these two families, and today...looked to be slightly more difficult. To put it shortly: _All of the city, including him, was tired of putting up with this type of shit._

"There's no need to get your...pipe, your Majesty, we just need to sort this out-"

Antonio was shushed with a kind, heart-warming, and absolutely _terrifying_ smile. "This is the third time this week that your Houses have made a sort of spectacle on the streets. Each and every time you manage to disturb the peace and cause the people to slow or stop what their doing because of the fact that _friends_ can't get along... Why can't we just all be one like Mother Russia, and make peace with each other? Oh, Vargas, you made it! Hurry and explain yourself before I get out my pipe and escort you all to the _court_ ," The Prince finished. He once again smiled at the whole party, and there was not a sound made. Average people continued walking along, whistling, whispering, _subtly_ staring. Thankfully the crowd full of strangers vanished as quickly as they had appeared. Gossip, no doubt, would flare up tomorrow.

"I came as fast as I could, once I heard the news, but I had to entertain my _beautiful_ lady friends. One of my them on their way to see me managed to see this and tell me about it, so they are here to accompany me, please excuse me your Majesty," the one and only Lord Vargas smoothly said, showing off his pearly-whites and perfect charisma. True to his word, he had two Italian women hanging off of his arm, dressed in colorful dresses with flawless faces and even brighter smiles. The man himself wore an ornate maroon robe, and his dark hair was in a disarray. Nice representation of the wealthy House of Vargas, for sure.

"Ah, that is okay! Just please make sure to keep your House in check, and if another incident like this happens again, _both_ of the Houses _will pay_."

And with that, the Russian Prince turned on the heels of his expensive black leather boots and left. The ever silent Royal Guard soundlessly followed without a word.

Lovino, Alfred, and Arthur hurriedly put up their swords, and for a moment, the two opposing servants shared an apologetic glance. Matthew once again stepped beside his brother, and scooted him in the direction of the local market to fulfill their duty of replenishing the kitchen stock. Arthur took Peter under his arm, and walked briskly in the other direction from where they came. Lovino and Antonio just looked at each other, and stared/glared. Lovino made his way to his uncle, Lord Vargas, and let himself be taken care of with the soft cooing and pampering of Lord Vargas' lady friends. Antonio was simply left by himself, in the span of less than three minutes.

He simply looked around at the flowing traffic of people, and just shrugged his shoulders.

 _"Ay Dios mio, que voy hacer con esto gente?_ "

* * *

"And then they did _what_? My own servants from my own House? Oh heavens no, did the Prince come into play with them?" Lord Beilschmidt asked, his booming voice intimidating in the big empty room. He sat with Antonio, one of his son's friends, and leveled him a glare with that communicated _'Don't lie to me.'_

"Ah, not to worry my friend, the Prince barely showed up, and he left right afterwards. But this seems to be the third time this week, and he's still counting. He also said that next time, " _Both of the Houses will pay"_ , but that doesn't mean anything, right?" Antonio nervously answered, letting out a nervous chuckle and decided to hide his sweating hands underneath the antique wooden table. After the little fiasco back at the town square, he came to the Beilschmidts looking for one of his most trusted friends, and ended up telling the Lord of the House about the whole mess. Lord Beilschmidt expected something had to have happened anyways. And now, here he was, seated in front of another scary man and being dissected for the truth.

Lord Beilschmidt looked stoic, but nevertheless nodded. "I see. So, Antonio, have you heard anything about the whereabouts of my son?"

Antonio paused his mind's thinking for a moment, to backtrack on what the other had just said. So abruptly the subject had changed, that he was barely aware of it. "What- I mean, excuse me? Where's Gilbert? I can't say I've seen him today, but no doubt that I'll find him. He's either with Francis or hiding in the White grove just a few blocks from here. I have a feeling that _mi amigo_ has been avoiding me lately."

"I must express the same feeling. He retrieves his breakfast in the mornings with heavy sighs and complains about his lack of -what is it again?- Awesomeness? Yes, that is the word that he uses often. He also locks himself in that stuffy, messy room of his that I constantly pester about him cleaning, and he definitely closes his curtains to deny the natural light of day, even if his skin is pale enough already. If you can find him, please tell him that he is being a bit melodramatic. Now if you'd excuse me, I have to go resume my duties of paperwork for the use of my orchards," Lord Beilschmidt explained. The wooden chair scraped against the floor, and Antonio breathed a sigh of relief once the heavy mahogany doors had closed ominously.

"So is he gone-?"

 _"SANTA MARIA, MADRE CACHUCHA!_ " Antonio practically yelled, trying to make it sound as manly as possible even though he had been scared out of his wits. Red eyes emerged from the darkness of the corner of the room, from behind one of the decorative curtains of the family crest. Blue and sliver colors shone vibrantly on the fabric. The familiar red eyes belonged to one of Antonio's closest friends, the self-proclaimed ' _awesome'_ son of Lord Beilschmidt, _Gilbert Bielschmidt_ , in the flesh.


End file.
